


Digital Musings

by BrokenWingedTenshi



Category: Original Work
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:48:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27433804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenWingedTenshi/pseuds/BrokenWingedTenshi
Summary: So I write a lot on here, but I'm not doing so hot irl. I decided that since I'm so inconcistent, I'd give a little glimpse into my head. Be aware that this is not going to be sunshine and rainbows because I tend to be depressed when I write this sort of thing. Just a fair warning.
Kudos: 1





	Digital Musings

**Author's Note:**

> If you've decided to read this, I'm sorry.

So like most gen z's with any artistic or sharable interest, I'm not always the happiest. In fact, it's very rare that I am happy at all. And while it makes for great stories, escapism and all that shit, it's not so good for my everyday life. So here's the lowdown on Tenshi.

19, Female, severe anxiety, classic abandonment issues and a deep seated dislike of my father for leaving my mom to raise a baby on her own. Course, it doesn't help that he was two timing her and another good woman. But I'm not getting into my daddy issues today. That's a can of worms I'm not ready to spill to the internet. Or anyone really. Maybe someday somebody will ask and I'll be ready to answer but that day is a ways away. Today we're here to talk about a phenomenon I'm sure most people who read this (if anyone ever does) will be able to identify with. Existential dread (the pain in the ass).

That feeling where you contemplate how, when and the what's next of when you die. When your world stops spinning and the room starts because for some ungodly reason all the air has been crushed from your lungs and there's none around for you to pull in and you can't move. When your limbs feel like lead and they're all stuck to where they're resting and you wait for the inevitable expiration of your existence. That momentary panic that will eventually shrink back to a manageable level until someone else sets off the reaction and your world ends all over again. And for a few terrifying moments the world goes silent again because you don't exist and neither does anyone else.

Is that what it feels like for anybody else? Because I can't shake the feeling that it's just me. And maybe it is. Maybe the rest of the world is full of normal people who don't feel like they're dying every time someone brings up their eventual death, which is spoken about a lot more because gen z is chaotic and we're all fucking psychos because there are still things we would swallow the dread for and take a bullet while the feeling wells in our chests like the world is begining and ending and we'll never be able to see or hear or breathe again. But I doubt the world is really full of normal people.

There are very few things I find solace in when I'm having these moments. I don't know what it is that sets off a trigger in my mind telling me I'm dying. I guess it's just a response to stress. My friends tell me all the time that I'm stressed. That I need to breathe and see a doctor or something. Get on a medication for depression or anxiety or both. Which I will not do. In any case, maybe it is the stress. Or maybe it's the memories of things I would rather not remember that some days shove everything else in my mind aside until I have no choice. Maybe it's the feeling of hopelessness that I get when I look around my hometown and see everyone unhappy or just unsatisfied. Maybe it's how much I hate that bitter feeling when I see other people happy in a relationship, trusting someone else in a way that terrifies me. Or how ridiculous I feel every time I look in the mirror. How cruel the voices no one else can hear are when looking into my own eyes.

I don't know what it is, and there are so many options I wouldn't know where to begin. So here's today's existential thought. What am I here for? I genuinely don't understand why some god thought to make something the world would make hurt all the time, or why anyone would think putting something that would either get aggressive or immediately panic at any slight confrontation. For that matter, why are there so few things in the world I can do to make it go away. I have to see a certain person or hear a certain word. Think a certain thought, hear a very particular note or time. Some sound only four people in the entire world as I know it can make because they know too much about the inner workings of my brain and simultaneously nothing at all. Because no one ever really understands it.

Sure there's the usual platitudes about how my mother 'knows the feeling' or how my sister 'understands the fear' but how can they possibly know that feeling when you are ending and beginning and burning all at once until you're dropped, jarringly, violently, cruelly back into the reality that has become the only thing you know how to live with because everything else is terrifying and to change things is to invite disaster (because it is always a disaster).

But how can you believe the word of someone who would say anything to make sure you're breathing? The answer is simple.

You can't.

So you live with the dread until it violently smashes you back into the world you know until the next time you inevitably panic.

And I think people make the mistake if thinking that because you can breathe again the panic of the dying world has gone away. But it never really does, does it? It's an itch you can't scratch. An ache in your chest you can't escape. A dull thumping a millisecond after your heartbeat, so close together you could mistake it for not even being there at all. Driving you slowly further and further away from the things you used to love and the people you refuse to pull into your messed up narrative because you still love them even after all the things you wanted to do seem meaningless. Even after the world loses its appeal and some nights pretending to sleep until you know you won't be bothered you wish the weight of it would just crush you already. Even when pretending to be okay day after exhausting day is too much so you pretend you're sick or you tell people you're 'just tired' so they'll leave you alone.

The dread never goes away.

Fear never does.

And I suppose that's why it took me so little time to pretend I was okay. Maybe one day we'll get to the origin of a few of my ridiculously overthought fears (I've dreamt of just about every single scenario that could ever play out regarding ask of them) or my issue with boys named Josh. Or why I'll never enjoy any kind of romantic relationship without worrying constantly if I'm going to be left behind again. But for now, I've got breakfast to make for my sisters.

If you've decided to read this, I'm sorry.

Tenshi, signing off for now.


End file.
